


insatiable a desperation

by driftful



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:38:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driftful/pseuds/driftful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a desperate move to try and influence the law in a society stripping werewolves of their rights, Derek kidnaps Stiles, the son of a prominent politician.</p>
            </blockquote>





	insatiable a desperation

Stiles felt a sickening mix of confusion and fear hit his gut when a body pressed behind him. A palm pressed over his mouth, and an arm wound tightly around his body.

He jerked uselessly, screeching into a rough hand that nearly muted the sound.

A spike of frustration began to sink into his stomach, combining with everything else pulsing through him.

Frustration, because he had done everything in his power to carve himself the safe life his father had wanted.

He'd spent his eighteenth birthday making plans to move out, because the media had taken a huge interest in his father after radicals caused controversy by trashing him for his influence in lycanthropy laws. Stiles was confined to the house on multiple occasions, to avoid news cameras that his father feared would help to make him a target.

He had always understood the necessity, knowing his father often suffered through invasive interview questions such as, "How would you feel about lycanthropy laws if your son received the bite?"

And—ha, he had assured his father that getting his own place would be safe, that the biggest concern would be his health without Stiles to keep him eating salads. Stiles insisted he didn't need any gates or guards from radicals, because he had a low profile as it was.

Evidently not low enough.

He whined continuously against the hand covering his mouth, and glanced down at his hand holding the key, mere inches away from the doorknob. If he could just break out of the grip the man had—

A deep growl reached his ears. Great, this was definitely a werewolf. The claws were almost gentle against his cheek.

"Don't try anything," the werewolf grunted, and Stiles dropped his keys almost immediately in response. He felt a twinge of spinelessness for giving in so quickly, but considering the alternative was having his throat ripped out, he didn't have any other logical choice.

"Better," the werewolf said. Stiles shivered against him.

The werewolf guided him away from the door, towards the parking lot next to the apartments. He glanced around frantically for someone to notice, but if there was anyone around, he couldn't see them.

A Camaro entered his sight as he was forced forward, and of course that had to be where he was going. It almost felt like a re-enactment of a werewolf predator PSA he would have been forced to sit through in elementary school.

(but also the opposite because those were funny and cheesy but this was harsh and real and terrifying beyond anything he could have imagined)

He instinctively created more noise against the ever-present hand, mumbling into it his desperate begging. Once he entered that vehicle he wasn't going to be able to make some clever escape and be safely inside his apartment in a moment.

"Stop it," the werewolf spat at his ear. "If you don't want to be tied up head to toe for hours you need to cooperate."

He stopped trying to speak instantly in response to the threat, but couldn't help an anguished sob from escaping his throat, muffled.

To his surprise, his abductor forced him into the front passenger seat, fastening a seatbelt around him. He'd honestly expected the trunk, or at least the floor in front of the back seat, to hide him.

But then again, he always had a low profile, didn't he?

From the new position, Stiles was finally able to look at the werewolf fully, and a small wave of shock passed through him. He was frightening, but far younger than the hardened grizzly middle-aged werewolf Stiles had been suspecting.

And finally his mouth was free.

"Please, let me go," he blurted out, for the first time noticing the wet sting of tears on his cheeks. "I won't even report anything and you won't get into any trouble. You can have my wallet if you want, please."

He realized it wouldn't work the minute the words left his mouth, and considered with a shiver that he might have just shortened his lifespan by bothering the werewolf with his pleading.

"No," the werewolf said simply with an incredulous look, and Stiles felt his hope crumble as a small wave of relief passed over him that he didn't seem offended to the point of violence.

He did take Stiles' wallet, however. He slipped it out of the pocket of Stiles' hoodie unceremoniously, though it made Stiles jerk backwards.

"Anything else on you?"

"No, nothing," Stiles promised, shaking his head quickly.

The werewolf regarded Stiles silently once more, and walked around to the trunk of the car, apparently satisfied with the response.

Stiles briefly considered unbuckling and running while the door laid open, but immediately quashed the thought because duh, it was a werewolf he was dealing with.

Fuck.

The werewolf came back with duct tape in hand, wrapping it liberally around Stiles' wrists, and then his ankles.

Stiles watched his face twist in concentration during the act, not daring to protest the treatment. The earlier threat of getting completely tied up laid heavy on his mind.

Then, finished, the werewolf slammed the door harshly and a moment later opened the opposite door to get into the front seat, and oh god this was still something that was happening and escalating quickly.

As the engine roared, he bit his lip and flexed his hands a bit, testing his movement allowance. They were unbearably tight against one another.

After the car left the parking lot, leaving his home, it hit him that the werewolf's face was somehow familiar in an eerily distant way.

He couldn't help but say, "I've seen you."

The werewolf didn't react.

"Who are you?" he pressed on, his voice quiet beyond his own recognition.

The werewolf turned his eyes away from the road for a moment to look at Stiles pointedly.

"Derek," he answered finally.

It hit Stiles like a crash of bricks.

"You're a Hale, fuck." He dipped his head down towards his bound hands. "Oh my god, of course."

He was going to get killed. Or get killed after being used as a bargaining chip. Or turned, maybe, to make some sort of statement, but that was too optimistic for even him to truly consider.

He stayed silent for a few moments more, letting his misfortune settle into his mind. He was being kidnapped by the most radical pack of werewolves in the world. After the death of a huge portion of their pack, there was nothing they wouldn't do.

They would especially jump at the chance to kidnap and murder an anti-werewolf politician's son.

***

The drive that day would end up as a blur to Stiles, hours of unhelpful thoughts that only wore him down.

The worst realization was the fact that his father would almost certainly crumble under the guilt of another family member lost to werewolves. Everyone else could carry on, but his father wouldn't be able to.

He did remember his abductor, Derek, receiving a call. Whoever it was, they were in on the kidnapping. As he had unfortunately suspected, his abduction wasn't the work of just this one werewolf. It was clearly an organized effort, planned to the slightest detail.

Derek seemed mildly irritated by the conversation. Bit out answers like "Yes, he's contained," and, "I know."

The one that caught Stiles' attention the most was a brusque, "He isn't injured, I didn't have to do that. He's just… jumpy. When his heartbeat isn't fast it's irregular."

Stiles gritted his teeth, closed his eyes in a wave of something just short of anger. The werewolf that kidnapped him shouldn't have the right to analyze him, his pulse, his movements. He reported it as if dealing with a pet being carted off to new owners.

The call ended with an impassionate, "I'll be there in a few hours."

A few hours. In a few hours he would be somewhere he didn't know, with werewolves that hated him. He might end up dead, a werewolf, or tortured—

"God," Stiles said, trying desperately to blink tears from his eyes. "I'm never going to see my dad again, am I?"

If Derek heard him, he showed no indication of it, practically squinting at the road and cars in front of them.

Suddenly, at a particularly long red light, he says, "You might, you might not. It's not up to me."

Stiles looked out at the trees outside his window, frustrated out of his mind that every little sniffle that left him was highly noticeable to a werewolf with sensitive hearing.

"I'm really thirsty," he stated softly at the next intersection.

"You talk too much," was Derek's non-reply, surprisingly quick.

Stiles let out a near hysterical laugh, halfway to a sob. "How inconvenient for you, right? The person you just forced into your car can talk, and requires food and sleep, who would have guessed?"

"You can sleep now," he responded simply, like it was the solution to every problem in Stiles' life.

"I like comfortable sleeping? The kind with a bed, a full stomach, no duct tape around my limbs, and no kidnappers inches away," he hissed in frustration.

For a time everything was silent, and with some relief he assumed Derek had simply ignored the outburst.

Then, the car slammed to a stop. Stiles hardly heard the brakes squeal over the sensation of his body suddenly lurching forward into the seatbelt.

"Fuck," he breathed, catching his breath. "You aren't mad, are you? I was just joking, I can totally go without food and water for a while, I ate a lot this morning—"

At the sight of a knife in Derek's hand, he slammed his eyes shut and jerked his body as far away as he could in a pitiful attempt at evading a werewolf.

"Stay," Derek directed, and as condescending as it was, the mellow tone was such a contrast that Stiles dared to ease his eyes open. And, wow, he was dumb.

Derek was separating his bound limbs with knife cuts through the tape. He pulled the tape off in a painful gradual process that looked deceivingly gentle. Stiles bit his lip until Derek finished.

"Please say we've stopped because we're getting food? Or because you've suddenly decided that I'm not worth the trouble and will let me go, that's good too."

Derek just tugged on his wrist (which, ow, was extremely sore) to signal for him to get out of the car. His legs shook slightly upon supporting themselves against the ground for the first time in hours.

"The former," he said as Stiles found his balance. He pulled out Stiles' wallet and handed it to him with a cold warning in his eyes.

"You don't think someone will notice you're a werewolf kidnapping a public figure's son?" He whispered out, instantly regretting it. Even his lack of filter was no excuse for alerting his kidnapper of possible threats to his plan.

"No," Derek said simply, pulling him by the wrist, still, as if otherwise Stiles would make an attempt to bolt away from a werewolf. Tempting, but too ridiculous for him to truly ever consider. "There's a slight chance I might be recognized, it's happened before. But your father has kept you out of the media too well."

"The lack of information on me didn't seem to deter you when you decided to kidnap me," he muttered softly, too afraid to say the words as harshly as he wanted to.

"Don't do anything stupid when we're inside," Derek said, thumb pressed tight against a vein in warning.

"I know that," he said defensively. "I'm not trying to get myself clawed to death in a restaurant."

Derek seemed to tense for a second, and Stiles' stomach twisted in horrified anticipation. But then he continued walking as if nothing had been said.

The place was simple, clean, and entirely unimpressive otherwise. Derek had clearly just chosen it at random, spotting it at the side of the road after Stiles' outburst.

Even though Stiles could only see the back of him, there was an instant transformation in Derek the minute he walked up to the hostess. He chatted cheerily with her, almost like he was putting off being seated, which was eerie by itself. He even laughed at a few of her shy jokes.

"I just need to see both your IDs," she finally stated with a smile, "and I can seat you."

Stiles belatedly realized that Derek couldn't possibly have one. They were only for humans, and in recent years notoriously difficult to fake.

Derek made a show of flipping through his wallet, and sent a fake worried glance in Stiles' direction that made his blood boil.

"I think I lost mine, I must have left it home." His voice was exaggerated with distress. He had obviously done this before, probably countless times, in order to even be able buy a car and put gas in it.

"Oh, dear," the woman said, pressing a nail to her chin. "We can't service anyone without human identification, I'm so sorry. I dislike doing this, really, but you know how it is now, with werewolves all around."

"I understand. What about him, can he eat if he has his ID?" He asked, gesturing to Stiles. Dumbly, Stiles just stared back at him, at a loss.

"Oh, that's so sweet," she said sadly, glancing between them. "I can't possibly let you go hungry while your friend eats alone. You know what—forget it. No one besides me has to know you've lost your ID. I'll just check your friend's."

"Really? Thank you so much, it means a lot," Derek said, turning to Stiles with a bright smile that made him want to scream. "You have your ID, right?"

"Uh, yeah," he said with a shrug. He pulled his ID out of the wallet, and handed it to the hostess, under Derek's scrutinizing observance. He hoped the hostess would sense something was wrong, that she would somehow recognize 'Stilinski' and find it suspicious that he would be eating with a man with no identification.

But of course, she just looked at the card and handed it back with a smile. Even if she had somehow known who his father was, and assumed he was related, she obviously hadn't recognized Derek and was far too charmed to think anything badly of him.

Dejected, he followed her to the small booth, and slid into it across from Derek.

Derek Hale, his kidnapper that he would be eating a meal with.

"Oh my god, this is so fucked up," he muttered to himself.

"You're the one who wanted to eat," Derek said, voice growled out from behind the opened menu.

"We could have just gone into a gas station or something, and I could have bought food without the ID issu—thing."

Derek laid the menu flat to look at him harshly. "For who your father is you're far too oblivious to the laws around here. I can't walk into one without being carded, just like in here."

"Nobody can walk into one without being carded," Stiles responded, unable to keep himself from making that point. He knew it made no difference, that the carding was never anything more than a slight annoyance to him, but he was too angry at his kidnapper mentioning Stiles' father like he was scum. "That's not what I meant, anyway. I would go in alone."

Derek looked at him blankly, eyebrows lowering after a moment. "So you can try to convince a cashier to help you?"

"You would be able to hear everything going on, I'm not stupid," Stiles said, fingers bending the corner of his menu in anxiety. "If I told someone, you would just threaten or hurt them so they'd stay quiet. I'm not going to put anyone through that."

"You smell of panic. Constantly. You're prone to irrational behavior despite intelligence," Derek responded after a pause, looking out the window as he said it.

"Whatever," Stiles said, voice cracking. "You're the one capable of tearing me apart, so I can't exactly win any arguments."

"Just—calm down." The words were gritted out, annoyed.

Stiles thought of earlier, of Derek talking about him like he was a frightened pet that needed to be controlled instead of a desperate abducted teenager. He just wanted Stiles to calm down and shut up, and it was obviously the only reason why he was bothering to feed him.

He ordered a simple sandwich with fries, and went through a few cokes quickly while waiting. He didn't even want to look at Derek, let alone talk to him any longer, so he purposely put his energy into drinking and eating to fill up the silence he wasn't used to leaving open (because he always talked, didn't he, babbled through broken bones and rejections from lydia like nothing could change him).

He ate bites of the sandwich so quickly that it hurt, throat straining to swallow them down. When he got halfway through stuffing down his fries he slowed down, chewing off little ranch-soaked pieces, because Derek was eating chicken at an infuriatingly steady pace.

"I'm done," he announced after swallowing the last bit of a fry. He pulled his fourth coke closer, eager to distract himself by drinking until the bill came.

Derek's hand found his wrist again when they got up to leave, leading him outside.

At the sight of the Camaro, Stiles suddenly wished he had slowed down when eating his meal, even if it would have meant more time sitting across a table from Derek.

He jumped into the passenger seat voluntarily before Derek could take it upon himself to push him in.

At the sight of the duct tape in Derek's hands again, however, he jerked away.

"I don't need that," he insisted, surprised by the panic in his own voice. "I don't like not being able to move my hands and feet—please."

Derek regarded him sourly, lips pressed tight. "I can't risk you trying to escape the car, you'd hurt yourself."

As if it was all about Stiles safety, instead of containing him.

"I'm not going to try and fling myself out the door or make you crash if that's what you're thinking. I'm not trying to kill myself. Come on, can't you tell that I'm saying the truth?" His voice grew desperate.

"You might change your mind later," Derek argued with a frown.

"I won't, I just don't want to be confined for hours again. Please?" He knew Derek didn't care in the least what his feelings were, but he seemed to at least care about what would keep Stiles more quiet and calm. "It will help me to relax if I can just move freely."

Derek emitted a sharp sound, like a sigh cut off. He pulled back, shutting the door.

Stiles allowed himself a sigh of relief. It was hardly a battle won, considering he was still forced to go to a place he might never come back from. At this point, he had no choice but to appreciate the miniscule amount of freedom he had and let his mind go blank for the next few hours.


End file.
